Three Years After Liberation, Kherson Endures Relentless Drone Threat as Residents Adapt to Life Behind Nets and Underground

KHERSON, Ukraine – November 10, 2025: Nearly three years after Nov. 11, 2022, when Ukrainian forces liberated Kherson from a nine-month Russian occupation, the southern city now lives under a persistent drone and artillery threat from across the Dnipro River. Streets are largely empty, daily life has moved indoors or underground, and residents rely on improvised defenses and electronic warfare to shield civilians from strikes.

Once home to nearly 280,000 people, Kherson has become a battered frontline community where explosions echo beneath billboards that still read: “City of strength, freedom and resilience.” A recent visit by Angelina Jolie offered a rare morale boost, with images showing the American actor in a basement and walking beneath narrow mesh-covered corridors used to shield civilians from drones.

A City Transformed by Constant Threat

After the jubilation of liberation, residents say the war’s shape changed. From the far bank of the Dnipro, Russian forces maintain regular bombardments while drones prowl the skies, forcing Kherson to adapt.

• Protective mesh spans key streets and building entrances to reduce the risk from attacking drones.
• Hospitals and public facilities are wrapped in netting with narrow access corridors to protect staff and patients.
• Post offices operate with entrances blocked by concrete slabs, and bus stops are paired with small cement bunkers.
• Electronic warfare systems form an “invisible shield,” jamming or disabling incoming drones targeting civilians and infrastructure.

A Florist Among Ruins

In the scarred city center, 55-year-old Olha Komanytska’s small flower kiosk stands out with buckets of red and white roses – a surreal burst of color on a corner that once bustled with customers.

“Hardly anyone buys flowers,” she says. “We’re just trying to make it through.”

Komanytska and her husband once ran greenhouses outside Kherson; they were destroyed in the fighting. She wears a black headscarf to mourn him. He died of a heart condition, but she believes the war hastened it. Even visits to his grave are brief: “Not more than five minutes,” she says, adding that it’s because of drone danger.

Her kiosk offers little safety. A shell once flew over her head, shattering a pane she later covered. Like many residents, she has learned the sounds of different weapons – artillery, rockets, bombs – and fears drones most.

She mimics their low whine. “They’re always searching” for a target, she says. “At night I walk home, and they’re above me. You just run. Before, you could hide under trees. Now … I don’t know where to hide.”

Her expression softens only when recalling liberation. “That day was amazing,” she says.

Defending Kherson from the Sky

Overhead nets – once common on construction sites – now hang above streets and entrances across the city. But Kherson’s crucial protection comes from its electronic warfare units that detect and disrupt drones.

Electronic Shield Over Kherson

Max, 28, a member of the 310th Separate Marine Electronic Warfare Battalion, helps operate the city’s electronic shield. His frontline workspace resembles a programmer’s station, with screens showing maps and live data as neighboring units coordinate.

He said the mission is to detect targets and ensure they fail their objectives – whether “drones hunting civilians, infrastructure, vehicles or even humanitarian convoys.” According to Max, up to 250 FPV drones can approach Kherson in half a day, and his unit intercepts more than 90% from the workstation.

“When you see a strike hit a soldier or a civilian, it hurts you – it weighs on your soul. You want to do everything possible to make sure it never happens,” he said, noting they can intercept live feeds from Russian drones and monitor operations in real time.

“I think they simply want to destroy us as a nation – not just the military, but everyone – so that we cease to exist.”

Childhood Underground

To preserve a sense of normal life, many activities – especially for children – have moved to basements converted into carpeted rooms with colorful decorations. Weekly clubs offer chess and checkers, along with posters teaching breathing techniques for anxiety.

Chess coach Oksana Khoroshavyna says practice is less rigid now; the club primarily gives kids a place to meet friends. “These kids stay home all the time,” she says. “They study online; everything in their lives is remote.” Previously, children traveled to tournaments in Mykolaiv and spent spare time outdoors – something no longer possible – and those trips have now stopped due to dangers on the road.

In another basement, 16-year-old high school senior Artem Tsilynko, who hopes to study dentistry, practices boxing. “For me, this place is about unity,” he says. “Even though life in Kherson is so limited – social life, sports life – we still have a chance to train.”

Years of war have dulled his personal fear, but heavy night shelling still triggers anxiety. “When you’re sitting in the basement, your heart races,” he says. “After that, it’s hard to fall asleep.”

Context and Ongoing Risks

Since the city’s liberation on Nov. 11, 2022, Kherson has faced regular strikes from Russian forces across the river, keeping public spaces sparse and pushing essential services to adapt. The city’s layered defenses – from mesh-covered corridors to jamming systems – aim to reduce civilian casualties and maintain basic services.

Conclusion: Life Persists Behind the Shield

Kherson’s residents continue to navigate a fragile routine under the constant threat of drones and shelling. With public infrastructure fortified and electronic warfare teams intercepting the majority of incoming threats, the city remains determined to function – cautiously, and largely out of sight – as it endures the long war along the Dnipro.